The Sunset Chapters
by Nameless Forest
Summary: I'm here to tell you the story of my roommate, whose life I will honor in this story. And it begins with a normal day and a mission which took a turn for the worst. Affecting all of us. Semi-AU and OOC?


Disclaimer: I don't own A Certain Scientific Railgun or A Certain Magical Index. On with the story. P.S: as for the cover image, I have no idea who drew it, (found it on google images) but the credit goes to the artist. Excellent picture!

* * *

Every story has a beginning and its own unique end. But, after thinking it through, maybe it's not the ending that's unique. Rather, the plot. What you do with it, as well as how. There's a saying that goes like this; life's what you make it. As a wise man once said. Some people live theirs to the fullest of their ability. Then there's those who allow life to happen to them by chance.

They're not behind the steering wheel but merely a passenger headed towards their final destination. Some people, but not all, come across their happy ending. Whatever the phrase mean to the individual.

There are several endings. There's a semi-happy ending where the protagonist walk off into the sunset with his or her beloved after experiencing loss in a too-close-for comfort situation. Oftentimes, you can't obtain without loss. You can't say both, please. It doesn't work that way. Not in real life, that is. There are days which undoubtedly will be gray with pregnant rain clouds and fake smiles. But, somewhere along the way, you'll find that silver lining.

Last but not least, there's that bittersweet ending where someone eventually come across. The protagonist makes a heartfelt promise to his or her sweetheart, that they'll meet again.

One day. When the time is right. Maybe that's never. And the sweetheart does return. To a graveside. A tombstone made of granite and quartz. Accidental. Leaving the reader to come up with their own conclusion to his eventual fate.

* * *

There are numerous stories to be told. I'll leave that to someone else. I'm here to tell one, yes. And it's not mine. Nor is it the story of the unlucky husband of mine, whom I love. Nor is it the short story of my loud and beautiful four year old. The protagonist of this story is someone who has abandoned this life prematurely. That is how I see it. The only way I can honor her life, if not her death.

My desire, out of many, is to honor what she stood for. Her quirks, no matter how charming or not they were. Her achievements and accomplishments she had her name on. Her as a person. Her past, present and future self. I refuse to honor a dead body and a corpse. For she is not.

She was more than just a body. While I may not have been in the heavens myself, literally, so to speak, and despite her faults. She deserves no less. A place in the heavens. Good people. Like she was. Spot on. As I have tried to explain to my four year old, only the body stays in the ground while the real you – opinion differs – ascend heavenward. One of her favorite bedtime stories.

Oh, I did care about and for her, genuinely. More than I let on in public and openly. Of course, I find myself missing her tremendously on certain days of the year. We all do.

Some, more than others. Namely, her parents who lost their one and only daughter. I can't even begin to imagine the depth of their sorrow. I only know I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to my own child. It's said that attending the funeral of your own children goes against the grain.

Does it go the other way, too? In a perfect world there would be no tears, sadness and fear. But we can't all have what we want, can we? Describing her in one single paragraph won't ever be enough or sufficient. It'd be to her a horrid insult. I can imagine the look on her face and how furious she'd be. To think that someone were able to summarize her using a single sentence. A tragedy.

* * *

She sought out to rid the city of crime and prevent it from ending up as a crime-infected hell hole. It had been her passion, her ideal and what she gave her life for and to. It's what ended up killing her in the very end. Close your eyes. It seems unfair. That after countless incidents, accidents and judgment missions – our student based organization established to fight crime – and numerous reckons with her anti-skill team, what killed her was an open fire situation.

Caught in a bullet hell, made of diamonds to eliminate any victim and target. Piercing her bulletproof vest and attire.

A fatal outcome on her behalf. What tragedy and waste of life. For she was full of life, right till her last moments. I remember that I entered a shell-shocked, numb state of being. It couldn't. I couldn't let it. Couldn't accept it. Not the hard facts. Then. The tears came, endlessly and without mercy. As I've previously said, I'm not here to tell you my story.

However, it began with my admittance to Academy City's power curriculum and my new middle school. I won't name it, but that was when and how my life as an Esper began.

My powers advancing, I eventually became one of the seven level fives in the entire city. One of the original level five, anyway. And I'm not even the type to brag about my powers which I've achieved through hard work. But I felt the need to add that part of my life because, why?

Because if it hadn't been for my powers and enrollment in the school, I'd say there would have been little chance of meeting elsewhere. Not ever.

* * *

I believe it's better to regret something you did, rather than regretting something you didn't do. And I don't regret having known her. Not in the slightest. I'm here to tell you about her faults, her moods, her behavior, her actions, her sense of justice, her words, her understanding of the world and the people around her. I'm here to tell you all of that, which embodied and made her who she was.

A way to simply that would be comparing her to a jigsaw puzzle. Doesn't it just piss you off when all you're missing is that one last, infamous piece?

Oh, yes. That saying applies to me too.

She wasn't complete unless being her usual self. Down to the smallest detail. How she openly declared her undying love for me, how she claimed we were fated lovers, how she'd never hesitate while on duty. Even if it meant confronting mad bombers, scientists, thugs, low-life scum and monsters. Demons in human form. How she'd neglect her sleep routine to write a report, a letter of apology, or searching through the judgment database for clues and culprits.

To make it short, she was the energetic, affectionate, caring, stubborn and of average violent nature. When it came to dealing with strays of the law and criminals of the worst kind. I had known her for almost two years when her attitude, demeanor and approach to life took a drastic turn. And definitely not for the better.

I'm here to re-tell the period of her life which shaped a greater deal of her life afterwards. She gradually returned to her former self, slowly and maybe never completely. I must say, that my genuine concern for her wasn't the only thing that kept her sanity intact and alive.

There's someone else whom has earned that honor. Without it, I doubt she would have lived to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. She was born a year after me.

My underclassman. Which in turn, means that she wasn't even fourteen when the first tragedy clashed with her life. The second, just after her fourteenth birthday, celebrated the week before. Despite her claims of not wanting a cake, presents and a party. One didn't have to be a mind-reader to see that she actually did want those things. She was just playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, it seems I've yet to address her by her actual name. What a shame and here goes nothing.

* * *

Shirai Kuroko. My underclassman. My roommate. My self-proclaimed, fated (as by her) lover. My younger roommate. But most of all, my friend. A friendship which lasted for the remained of her life. Sadly, today marks the anniversary of her passing and I'm supposed to replace the bouquet of lilies with a fresh one. They're bound to have wilted by now, in this heat and all. I've promised myself that, each year I'll lay down a bouquet on her grave. She was laid to rest in the seventh district's Northern cemetery. I believe she'd have told us to smile on the day of her funeral.

None of us could. For, in the end, it was Kuroko who brought us together. And this is how I'll honor her memory. Honoring who she was, stood for and believed in.

Happy birthday, Kuroko.

* * *

So, how was it ? Mind you, it's only the prologue. Now, click that button...you know you want to.

I happen to like Kuroko Shirai and I'm in no way bashing her. It's not because I hate her that I decided to write this. As for the questions you may have, B (whoever you are), they'll be answered later on and in due time. Her death will (possibly, maybe) have significance for the story, and for those who think ( due to 'she wouldn't have seen her fifteenth birthday' ) I killed her off before she turned sixteen, relax. She will, in this story, reach adulthood and beyond. I won't say any more.


End file.
